


Electric Elevenses

by Nitrobot



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Collars, F/M, Femmes rule Cybertron AU, Harems, Implied Sexual Content, Leashes, Mechs are very okay with it, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where femmes all inherited power over newly restored Cybertron, Windblade holds the weekly gathering for her fellow leaders and their consorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Elevenses

**Author's Note:**

> This AU was very much inspired by a fanart set depicting all the femmes of TF Animated taking control of all the mechs (with leashes, collars, serving energon, the works). I'm not usually a big fan of femdom, but something about the girls of Cybertron taking charge really intrigues me (and I'll use any excuse to write femmes), and so this AU was created with ThePraxianWeasleyGeek's help.  
> Though there are characters from TFA included, the main timeline is set in Transformers Prime. I was originally planning to write a full introduction to this first, in order to establish them being in control after Cybertron's restoration and how it all came about, but my muse has been bugging at me to write some fun tea party shenanigans first. Basically, we figured it would be cool if all the femmes had weekly gatherings with their favorite mechs from their harems joining them.  
> All I can really explain from our lines of thought are that Windblade would have mechs who are known for appearances and being snobby (since she needs someone to apply her facial makeup every morning and sort her armour out) and somehow Arcee and Airachnid don't hate each other here. Breakdown is also still alive. The other pairings are just selfish random OTP inserts. Absolutely none of this is to be taken seriously.

No-one was quite sure how the tradition started. They knew Windblade was the one at its head, and the one to supply all the energon served and mechs doing the serving of it, but it was something that seemed to appear out of nowhere.  
Not that anyone complained, of course. Though one new attendee did take the time to ask after her second glass;

“How is it that Windblade gets to hold all our meetings?”

“Because only _her_ mechs know how to make good energon,” Slipstream replied to Arcee, sitting back in her consort’s lap as Mirage walked past with a tray of drained glasses held to his chest. He nodded in acknowledgement to the Seeker femme with a smug smile while her mech’s optics went wide with indignation. 

“For Primus’ sake, woman, I am a _warlord_ , not some distillery worker-!” Megatron’s tirade was cut short when Slipstream tugged hard on his leash, jolting his helm down. It was an efficient way for her to silence his outburts (and knowing the former Decepticon leader’s pride was hurt most of all mechs in the takeover and subsequent claiming by Slipstream, he was prone to plenty of them).

“No offence, darling, but shut up.” The sting of her words was softened with a kiss on his cheek, and even with his scowl still remaining he couldn’t hide the new glimmer in his optics.

Their host blushed at Slipstream’s praise and sat back in her own throne with Dreadwing at her side. He had one hand always on his cannon handle and another tugging at the ruby collar around his neck, though unlike the other mechs he had no leash attached to it. Windblade trusted him to behave. 

By comparison Starscream was a fidgeting sparkling, pulling his own collar down as it chafed at his metal and trying vainly to remove the glowing leash attached. Arcee held the other end lazily in her hand, not expecting her mate to actually accomplish anything from his struggles. He’d been complaining bitterly of having to attend the ‘farce’ of a gathering ever since Arcee had announced it to him, and only mentioning that Megatron would be just as humiliated as him was what coerced him to join her.

“Will Elita One be joining us?” she asked, holding her empty glass idly over her armrest. 

“Unlikely,” Blackarachnia answered, passing her half-full energon glass to Blitzwing to stall any potential Random appearances. “I heard there was a Scraplet infestation in the Iacon palace yesterday. They ate through half the infrastructure _as well_ as all the armour in her wardrobe.” She paused to roll her optics at her consort’s unsightly burp. “And with the supply lines to Protihex still blocked with Predacons it will be a while until she gets any new armour sets.”

“I’m sure Optimus will be thankful for that.” The gathered femmes laughed at Slipstream’s quip, and even their mechs chuckled with them (Megatron forced a smirk through his permanent scowl). Chromia stumbled in just as the noise was subsiding, faceplate flushed and vents heavy with exertion.

“Sorry I’m late. Insecticon nest outside the north Uraya border, had to stop to take care of it.” She fell into an empty seat in the circle of other femmes, chestplates heaving and glossa dry as the Rust Sea.

“No Ironhide with you?” Windblade asked curiously, stirring her energon glass with a thin rod. 

“He offered to stay behind on clean up duty, but I think your fancy mechs just scare him.” Chromia took a full glass from Mirage’s replenished tray while he stuck his olfactories up at her comment, and she gulped the blue liquid greedily. Tracks as well made an undignified noise as he tugged at the bowtie around his neck, but a look from Windblade sent him sulking back to the pantry to refill his own tray. His route sent him walking past Airachnid as she lounged in Soundwave’s lap, and as such he exited the room as if Blurr had let him borrow his peds. He squeaked in the hallway as a stray spider leg scraped his armour, and Airachnid was the first to chuckle at its echo, drawing a look from Blackarachnia. She crossed her servos as she was about to speak. 

“Now, before we get to any _official_ business, I heard a certain _someone_ had Knockout last night...” Her helm nodded in her fellow spider’s direction, and Airachnid had to keep her smirk humble in view of all the optics pointed to her. Arcee’s own rolled slightly at the mention of the Decepticon medic-turned-escort, and Starscream’s scowl turned to a childish pout.

“I hope he spends all his credits on paint and primer to cover up all the interface marks,” he muttered, slumping with his servos held close to his chest. Arcee’s spare hand went to one of his drooping wings, massaging the metal gently to soothe his injured ego. Starscream would never have admitted how effective it was, but he couldn’t well hide the tension in his joints melting away.  
“You know there’s a waiting list for _getting on_ his waiting list?” Blackarachnia mentioned while Blitzwing’s faceplate went red as he mumbled something about a “crimson dummkopf.”

“He actually offered _himself_ to me,” Airachnid pointed out, tipping her glass back elegantly and sipping the last drops of energon. She followed it with a dismissive shrug. “He was skilled, no doubt, but so _slow_ with foreplay. I was half asleep by the time he got his spike out. I always preferred his friend.” Her optics took on a dreamy look. “I like my mechs with _muscle.”_

“Yet you made Soundwave your main consort?” 

Airachnid shrugged again at Arcee’s question and her accompanying raised eyeridge. “I can make exceptions for ones who take charge.” She reached a claw over her shoulder to scratch under Soundwave’s chin. Of all the mechs he was surprisingly the least hostile, and seemed oddly content to have the spider use his lap as a chair. “At least I don’t have to get the collars out for him. He always gets a little _too_ excited around them, don’t you, darling?” Soundwave said nothing, but he leaned into the kiss she placed on his visor and what sounded like a low purr leaked from the glass seams.

“But sadly, I had to leave dear Breakdown at home.” She heaved a sigh, gliding idle claws along blue thigh armour under her hand. “Poor thing had creaking hip joints this morning. I may have worked him too hard...”

“He was a former Wrecker, wasn’t he?” Chromia asked, finally recovered from her marathon across Cybertron. “Is it true they have... deceptive looking codpieces?”

“Is Ironhide’s starting to bore you, Chromia?” Airachnid’s laugh in response was mischievous and knowing, and she leaned against the chestplate she made into a backrest. “All I’ll say is that Breakdown certainly _broke_ something in my valve last night- Oh, do calm down, Soundwave.” Airachnid flicked one of his helm crests to silence the growl from his systems. Ever since he entered the spider’s harem the mech had become more and more inclined to using his vocaliser, even if only for grunts and sighs (and the occasional moan for especially good evenings with his femme), and Airachnid suspected he’d be speaking full sentences soon enough. If his voice was anything like his growls, she could get very quickly used to hearing it in her berth chamber.

“In any case, a mech that other femmes clamour over isn’t worth the trouble in my optics,” she concluded, shaking her empty glass high to signal for collection. Tracks somehow hid his shakes as he exchanged it with a full one, holding his ventilations until he was out of the spider’s violet sight.

“Thunderblast’s still due to have him for a night,” Blackarachnia revealed after wrestling her drained glass from Blitzwing’s grip and handing it over to Mirage. She smirked at the thought that crossed her processor. “Who knows, maybe she’ll be the ‘one’ for him.”

“Ha!” Chromia almost snorted out her energon through her olfactories. “They can have sparklings together and raise them in the Protihex suburbs while we’re hauling our afts trying to repair them.”

“I think you’re too harsh on poor Thunderblast,” Windblade said with a sincere sadness. The blush she had gained from all the talk of interfacing had faded significantly. “She’s no different from any of us, and she’s trying her best to help.”

“Windblade has a point,” Arcee agreed. “True, Thunderblast _is_ flighty, fickle, hyperactive as a youngling, unfocused, unintelligent, rude, crude, often nude-“

**_“Chestplate waving, spike craving, legs spreading, every mech bedding-!"_** An elbow in Blitzwing’s own chestplate knocked Random off his spiel, and earned Blackarachnia a spray of coolant across her faceplate from Hothead’s fuming at her. Another slap was needed to set him back to normal- or as ‘normal’ as Icy ever could be. 

“ _But_...” The blue femme pointed a glare towards the Decepticon couple. “She _does_ have her uses. Seekers are the most valuable asset a bot can have, when you manage to tame them.”Just then she yanked on Starscream’s leash, making him choke and cease his efforts to slice through the cord with his claws. 

“Speaking of Seekers, I assume Vos is our next target for reconstruction after Central Iacon?”Airachnid directed the question at Slipstream, who nodded. 

“The sooner we have the aerial support systems running again, the better. After that is Crystal City labs, then we can reopen the refinery plants in Tarn-” Megatron was growling louder than usual as his mate went on. She paused to sigh and pat his helm. “And of course, we’ll need to give Kaon a clear out as well. A certain _someone_ doesn’t find Iacon’s living quarters suited to him.” 

“I am _not_ sharing the same building as that aftkisser Elita One calls her sparkmate-“

_“I’d ask you to refrain from insulting my beloved, Megatron.”_ Even the femmes were surprised to hear their Prima’s voice over the intercom at the front of the meeting room, and Megatron only scowled at the lack of ‘Lord’ in her reprimand. They frequently forgot it was there or that their conversations were being recorded whenever she wasn’t present, only to be reminded in a burst of static and admonishment. _“As for the rest of you, all I hear is idle gossip and bragging about your mech’s equipment. When our home is up and running again,_ then _you can sit on spikes for as long as you all wish.”_ Even with the severity of her tone the femmes had to stop from giggling at the thought. 

_“And Slipstream, it is_ your _job to keep the conversation focused. If you cannot do that, then I can easily assign your leadership post to someone- Optimus, not now! Yes, it is your favourite blanket, but_ I _need it more- don’t, you know I’m ticklish-“_ The intercom erupted with escaping laughter and ineffective protests, and a deep bass that could only be Prime’s own laugh. The feed was switched off a few klicks later. All the femmes knew they couldn’t voice their own amusement, but they knew Elita couldn’t see their wide smiles. Slipstream turned her waist to look at Megatron with something accusing in her optics. 

“Why can’t _we_ be a couple like them?” 


End file.
